Not a Good Day
by cazflibs
Summary: This is a day in the life of Arnold J Rimmer aged 7. Poor little mite, this is real nasty. If ANY of you still believe that Rimmer is naturally nasty after this, you truly have no heart. Please R


1 Howdy folks, and welcome to my fifth fan fic! Hurrah! My fifth anniversary! Now, this fic depicts a day in the life of the seven year old Arnold Rimmer. If ANY of you have a dry eye in the house after this, or still believe that Rimmer is a truly nasty person at heart, contact me, and I'll promptly (you decide your fate).  
  
2  
  
3 Not a Good Day  
  
By Carrie Bassett  
  
The black ink of the pen drifted pointlessly in an aimless circle, spiralling in a never-ending vortex. The seven-year-old stared into its depths, trying to ignore the distant hum of the classmates around him. He would often become lost in his own thoughts. He wished silently that this black hole before him would swallow him into its darkness. At least he wouldn't have to carry on with the torture that was his life. He'd already been late for school this morning after his brother, Frank had thrown his school shoes into the pond, and he knew from the oozing of his muddy, cold soles as his feet squirmed uncomfortably, that this would not be a good day.  
  
"Arnold Rimmer!"  
  
The suddenness of the screech caused the perfect spiral to jolt rigidly out of line and scratched in a sharp line off of the page. Arnold screwed up his dark, wide eyes, trying to silence the pounding of his heart.  
  
The voice had now become more dangerous and sinister. "Stand up," it growled.  
  
Praying that the redness of his cheeks would drain away, Arnold pushed himself out of his seat and eased his tiny body upright. He deliberately kept his head hung downwards, in what he hoped would be interpreted as respect and remorse. When the silence of the room began to ease its way painfully into his heart, he raised his eyes in anticipation and curiosity. Sure enough, the long, spindly frame of his teacher, Ms Solomon, was creaked into a frustrated and deeply annoyed posture. Her long thin arms were folded weakly and young Arnold was sure that her eyebrows had pushed back the greying, receding hairline by two inches. He watched with a plunging stomach as she famously removed her glasses, accompanied with a collection of gasps from the class. They all knew, including Arnold, that he would be punished beyond dignity.  
  
"Firstly, you were late for class, and with a poor excuse,"  
  
Arnold's mouth dropped open, "But, Miss," he squeaked in his pre-adolescent voice, "I already told you. Frank dropped my shoes in the pond…"  
  
Ms Solomon's faint blue eyes widened in horror. "Do you expect me to believe that Frank Rimmer was responsible for your lateness? I can't and won't believe that one of my previous top students would throw your shoes into any pond, or even begin to think of such a crime."  
  
Arnold opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. There wasn't any point in arguing. Everyone believed that his three brothers John, Frank and Howard were perfect boys. Little Arnold was the bad apple, and nothing would ever change that.  
  
"And now," she continued in her creaking voice, "you continue to ignore my lesson on 20th Century ancient history to doodle on your notepad."  
  
Arnold's eyes dropped down to his page where a tangle of black inky lines decorated the length of his page. There was nothing he could say to deny that. He closed his eyes softly.  
  
Ms Solomon extended her long, wrinkled arm to the corner of the room where a short, stout stool was waiting eagerly in the shadows. The action didn't even need an explanation. Arnold creaked back his chair and walked solemnly over to the stool and sat. This was certainly one of Arnold's most visited spots. He didn't mean to appear ignorant. His mind would just wander without consent, disappearing into new worlds. Better lives.  
  
The giggling of the class flushed his cheeks once more and he sighed sadly.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
******  
  
Arnold tried not to think as he sat, arms wrapped around his spindly knees, staring out onto the playground. The soft grass under the huge branches of the sycamore tree was his favourite spot at lunch times. Here, he could lose himself. He could lay back and forget that he was Arnold J. Rimmer. Arnold would often stare up at the hazy red glow of Io's sky and ponder over his life. He eased his head backwards until it came to rest on the cool grass and sighed deeply. What was it about him that the others didn't like? He'd tried so hard to fit in, but no one seemed to give two hoots about Arnold J. Rimmer. He was a source of abundant lunch money and nothing more.  
  
Something large and heavy thumped down onto Arnold's stomach with great force, and he gasped as the air was ripped from his lungs. After several splutters, he lurched himself upright to see a muddy leather football nestled in the grass beside him. He glanced down at the front of his green blazer, and a round splatter of mud grinned back up at him. His mother was not going to be happy tonight…  
  
"Hey, Bonehead!"  
  
The name cut through Arnold deeply and he winced at the sound. The name had been branded long ago, and he was compelled to answer to it. Eventually, he raised his weary head in the direction of the voice to see three other boys from the class above him stood in mute anticipation. The same boy shouted again.  
  
"Give us our ball back!"  
  
Arnold's eyes returned to the ball, and slowly he reached over, grabbed the ball and tossed it with all his might in the direction of the three figures. Unfortunately, his weak arms were only able to propel the ball a few metres in front of him, and he watched with a plunging sensation in his stomach, as the ball eased to a halt nowhere near the ball's owner. The three boys smiled. Like evil vultures, they had sensed Arnold's weakness, and now began to advance slowly on the helpless boy.  
  
Arnold recognized the look only too well, and he began to scramble urgently backwards, pushing himself onto his feet, ready to run. Unfortunately, he'd begun his escape plan too late, and the boys had already reached him before he could take off. The green wool of his blazer stretched as the largest boy grabbed a handful of the material below the 'V' of his neck and pulled it towards him. Arnold wrinkled up his nose as the stench of the boy's breath infested his air space. He knew that these boys could smell fear, and so reduced his visible shaking to a subtle tremble.  
  
The first boy leant over his captor's shoulder. "Got any money today, Bonehead?"  
  
Arnold swallowed and shook his head desperately. "N-no," he stammered.  
  
The first boy snapped a sharp look in his captor's direction prompting him to lift Arnold clean off the ground, and shake him roughly. The jingling of coins in his trouser pocket rung out like Big Ben, and Arnold clamped his hand down onto the pocket, silencing them instantly. With a snarling lip, the large boy dropped Arnold, sending him crashing to the floor, and during Arnold's daze, the first boy took the opportunity to reach into his pocket and snatch out the five silver coins. Slipping them into his own pocket, the first boy frowned.  
  
"It's not a good thing to lie to us, you know."  
  
Arnold bit his lip, unable to think of anything to say. He racked his brains, desperately trying to concoct the perfect lie to escape the inevitability of what would happen next. Unfortunately, Arnold's thinking was not fast enough, and before he knew what was happening, two of the boys had grabbed his arms and thumped him back against the tree. The pain screamed up and down his spine, and he gasped in and out quickly to prepare himself for the torture to come.  
  
The first boy grinned evilly as he pulled back his fist and punched it with mighty force into Arnold's stomach. He yelled in agony as the familiar hollow pain belched in his lower body, nauseating him deeply. The boy hit him again, and the same strangled scream echoed into the summer afternoon air.  
  
The boy's head whipped round to face the direction of the school. "Keep him quiet," he hissed to the two holding him, "or we're in trouble!"  
  
The larger of the two boys clamped a hand over Arnold's mouth as the torture continued. Muffled cries of agony and sorrow seeped through the boy's fingers as he prayed for the pain to stop. Two hellacious minutes later, the boy's pounding ceased. The choking hand was released from Arnold's mouth, and he slumped against the tree, gasping for air and clutching his stomach painfully.  
  
The boys grinned at their work. "See you tomorrow, Bonehead," they taunted, and ran, laughing, back to their classroom at the sound of the bell.  
  
Arnold watched them go, blinking away a lens of tears. The pain in his stomach had faded to a dull ache, but the waves of nausea still flooded his system. His dark eyes lifted to the heavens, which echoed a silent prayer for salvation.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
******  
  
Arnold dragged his feet as he walked wearily from the shuttle stop at the abandoned country road, back towards his house. The grass squelched underneath his feet as he crossed the barren field and stumbled slowly onto the tarmac of the road, baked hard in the intense heat. The immense weight of his school bag, perched wickedly on his shoulders, echoed the pain in his arms and stomach. However, the combined pain of his entire body couldn't compare to the dull, longing ache in his heart. The feeling of rejection, loneliness and sadness was the heaviest and most painful of them all.  
  
And Arnold had suffered from that pain ever since he could remember.  
  
In the distance, the large, overpowering family house loomed into view. The Rimmer family were rich, even richer than the other well-to-do families living on Io. This might be, reasoned young Arnold, the reason why he didn't fit in. Then reality slapped him round the face. His brothers were the most popular boys of their year. It had nothing to do with their background, their fortune, or their family. It was simply down to the individual. And that's where Arnold fell down. Not just fell down, but crashed spectacularly.  
  
Arnold stopped abruptly in the middle of the road to take a good look at the familiar building. Many unhappy memories were housed there, and hung in the air like a foul stench. Arnold redirected his gaze to the vast open fields, which beckoned lovingly. If only he could escape the torture of his life. He simply wanted to be someone else. To have a new start, a new beginning. One day, he thought to himself. One day.  
  
Slowly, reluctantly, Arnold pulled himself out of his fantasy world and trudged towards the dark, shadowy house. His mind did not wake up fully until the familiar shrieking voice erupted in his ear.  
  
"ARNOLD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR BLAZER?"  
  
Arnold's eyes snapped upwards to see the tall, towering frame of his mother, hands held aloft in horror. Her sky blue eyes radiated pure frustration for the boy before her.  
  
Arnold's eyes rolled downwards to the front of his blazer, where the previous wet muddy circle had dried to form an ugly crust. His heart plummeted. Arnold opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced with the tight shaking of his mother's head.  
  
"I don't want to hear any of your excuses, young man. Just wait until your father gets home. He'll give you what for." And without further warning, she pulled the blazer roughly over his head, pulling Arnold's ears painfully, and threw the offending item into the washing basket on the kitchen table. She extended her arm in the direction of his bedroom. "Get to your room without another word!"  
  
Arnold's eyes blinked sadly, and he trudged out of the kitchen and into the corridor, his socks still squelching subtly.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
******  
  
As his tiny hand rested on the bedroom door handle, the musty air burst into shrieks of joy, echoing somewhere down the corridor. Arnold's eyes widened at the sound and his heart took another plunge.  
  
They were home.  
  
He fumbled urgently with the handle as the thunder of running footsteps grew louder and louder. The day had been bad enough. If he could just get into his room and lock the door, then he would be eternally grateful. He pushed the door open into a gap just large enough to squeeze his tiny frame through, as the shouts and thumps reached a crescendo. Just as he was pushing the door shut, a schoolbook lodged itself between the closing gap, and Arnold felt a large force gradually pushing the door back open towards him.  
  
"No! No!" he breathed, pushing with all his might to close the door. Without anything to grip against, his socks glided slowly backwards on the polished wooden floorboards. A grunting push from the other side of the door knocked Arnold backwards, and he thumped hard onto the wooden floor. As he raised his head wearily, Arnold saw that the door had been burst open fully, and in the doorway stood two tall figures.  
  
It was Frank and Howard, two of his brothers.  
  
Something in the back of his mind breathed a sigh of relief. His eldest brother, John had already left home five months previously to become a test pilot in the Space Corps. Two against one. His odds were getting better and better.  
  
"Are your shoes dry yet, Bonehead?" Frank sneered.  
  
Still sat on the cold, hard floor, Arnold wrinkled his tiny nose in a scowl.  
  
"It's not funny, Frank. You got me in trouble."  
  
Frank's evil grin melted into a frown and he flicked his blonde hair out of his sky blue eyes. "You got a big mouth on you today, Arnold," he growled. "Maybe YOU'D like to go for a swim in the pond!"  
  
The two boys crept towards Arnold menacingly, but their advances were broken by their mother's shrill call:  
  
"BOYS! IT'S TIME FOR DINNER!"  
  
Arnold leapt happily to his feet. He hadn't had anything to eat all day. Breakfast was missed due to his shoe rescue, and his lunch money had been stolen from him. Howard pushed him to the floor once more and ran to the doorway to meet his brother. "Glug, glug, glug!" they both taunted, and ran down the stairs, laughing.  
  
Not to be perturbed, Arnold hauled himself to his miniature feet once more, ran out of the door and hammered down the corridor. He screeched to a halt at the top of the stairs when he saw his mother frowning up at him, arms folded tightly. She spoke to him harshly and cruelly.  
  
"Don't even think about joining us for dinner," she hissed jaggedly, and then disappeared out of sight.  
  
Arnold blinked quickly, desperately trying to stop the tears from running down his face. His stomach lurched into a spasmodic gurgle of hunger and he clutched it longingly. Forlornly, he turned back and slowly dragged his way back into his room, his wet socks hardly making any sound.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
******  
  
All matter of time was lost for Arnold as he lay on his bed, trying to ignore the pain that stabbed through various parts of his body. His mind had begun to drift once more as he gazed at his bedroom ceiling in a sightless stare. Never had it seemed so far away…  
  
Angry thumps from downstairs began to shake the house unsteadily, and young Arnold's heart froze. He tried to swallow, but his dry tongue rasped against the roof of his mouth. A deep, tyrannical voice blasted up the stairs:  
  
"HE WHAT?!?"  
  
Arnold sat upright and gripped the bed sheets with sweaty hands as he listened with mounting horror to the thumping footsteps ascending the stairs. His dark hazel eyes darted from side to side, in a desperate search for some form of escape. Finding none, he screwed up his eyes, trying to block out the hollow thumps that now paced along the corridor towards him. Horrifying past memories screamed in his brain as he recalled the explosion of pain and the cries of anguish, praying beyond help for escape.  
  
Violent thumps on his bedroom door ripped Arnold's mind back to the real world as his bottom lip began to tremble in pure terror.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
******  
  
The moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, illuminating the purple shades that highlighted his right eye painfully. Every blink was a separate agony. Arnold shifted his weight so that his aching arm was more comfortable and sighed raggedly as he listened to his parent's muffled conversation.  
  
"People are going to notice what you've done to him."  
  
"So? We can blame it on one of the boys."  
  
"We've got a reputation to keep, you know that."  
  
"Fine. We'll keep the boy off school until his eye heals, and no one will be none the wiser."  
  
Arnold screwed up his eyes painfully, but the tears still managed to escape. He gripped his one and only teddy bear tightly to his chest, as if it were the last piece of hope that he had to hold onto. And in many ways, it was.  
  
The Rimmer family was the perfect family. Nothing ever happened in the Rimmer household.  
  
How wrong they all were.  
  
Arnold tried to relax and let the comfort of sleep overpower him. Another day was over. It was one less to worry about.  
  
It wasn't a good day.  
  
But in Arnold J. Rimmer's life, it was never a good day.  
  
And never would be. 


End file.
